The Project
by HaleyandDani
Summary: Is there a hidden force driving the Professor to his "madness?" The man Holmes has been tracking for years; can he really be called a man? And was Holmes really the one doing the tracking? Or has he merely been weaved into one of Moriarty's webs;a project


_Author's Note: The following was written by two people: Dani (Proud Vixen) and Haley Moore. Dani wrote Moriarty's side in bold and Haley wrote Holme's side in regular font._

**Once again, Mr. Holmes, you have thought of the cleanest, most efficient method of thwarting my plans. I am glad that I previously thought of it myself. So you killed the old man eh? A small sacrifice on my part, but inevitable. Such a shame that I must come into the light so soon in the game, and that it is so terribly simple. I know every move you make before you even make it. Oh, if only you knew—**

**"Professor?" Moran's voice cuts through my thoughts, though I was trying so hard to ignore him. I let out a sigh, "Yes Moran? Have you done anything useful yet? Or need I remind you of the importance of your task?" **

**Moran pauses before answering as his hand subconsciously moves to his bandaged shoulder. "No, Professor. I mean, yes, I have done something, but no, you need not remind me. Again." I wait for him to go on, but he is silent.**

**"Well? Moran, do not let me get impatient with you."**

**"Sorry sir. Holmes has killed three of our men, four if you include your impersonator, and he is coming ever closer to us."**

**"Good. This means I can begin preparing for his visit. How delightful. Keep up the good work Moran. You are dismissed."**

**"Thank you Professor," he half-turns to leave, but I stop him.**

**"Oh, and Moran?"**

**"Yes Professor?"**

**"Me," and at his puzzled expression, I explain, "He is coming ever closer to me. This project isn't **_**our **_**project. It is **_**my **_**project." I smile and conclude with, "Don't ever make that mistake again."**

It was a pity to have to dispense of Moriarty so quickly. I would lie if I said I was happy to see the old man hang. Moriarty really did die too easily. Shame that I couldn't ask his companions of the whereabouts of Moran. Of course they wouldn't answer them, but one doesn't have to speak to speak. I am not making sense to myself. I am, I confess, unnerved. I am forced to pay a visit to the Colonel. Today. It is not this event that bothers me of course. But it was too easy. Killing Moriarty should not have been so absurdly simple.

Watson is staring at me from across the table. I won't eat, I can't. Nor can I sleep. Can one really blame me for my reliance on narcotics?

"Holmes, eat." It was not a request, but an order. He shoots me a warning glare. I remain silent. "Holmes."

A mistake on my behalf; my mother died years ago. Watson makes it impossible to miss her. He and Mrs. Hudson both. "...food...worried...die...matter..." They are the only words I hear. My mind is on the future. Why is he even here? When? He's married isn't he?

"Holmes, damn it! I will force you to eat myself! Or perhaps I shall get your brother down here?!"

"That's quite unnecessary, doctor. I have a meeting in a few minutes. No doubt I will eat then. My host is quite wealthy. And wealthy people have the tendency to gloat about their wealth; therefore he is bound to feed me. Or perhaps he will kill me first. Either way, there is no need for me to eat right now." Did I just babble? What is this? Sherlock Holmes babbling? I'm doing it again. What has gotten into me?

"Holmes? Are you ill?" Watson. Good old Watson.

"I must leave you now doctor." Without a sound, I'm off, to put it crudely. I can't let him see me like this. My vanity won't allow it.

I move down some alleys and streets I know the name of. But even they become a blur. There seems to be something sinister in them. I feel...no, the cocaine is not gone. That is the reason for my behaviour...yes...surely it must be. I find myself in front of a door in an alley. It is a dark alley. The buildings around said alley are unoccupied. Where are the other buildings? Are my pants on? Pull yourself together, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Moran can't see this. The door opens, and I force myself to be myself. I admit I'm excited.

**I will admit that I can barely contain my excitement when I hear those footsteps on the cobblestones; when I smell the sweat that is bound to rest on my opponent's brow; when I hear the knock on the door of my current living quarters. **

**"Moran?" I call casually.**

**"Yes, Professor?" comes the timid reply.**

**"Open the door. And be quick about it. None of those shuffling steps. And don't hold your arm, it slows you."**

**"But Professor, you are much closer to the door than I am…" he breaks off at the look I give him.**

**"Are you questioning my judgment, Colonel?"**

**"N-no Professor."**

**I explode, "Moran, why are you just standing there?! Answer the door damn it!" **

**The Colonel all but runs to the door and yanks it open. Finally, the reaction I was looking for. "H-Holmes…Yes, yes…Ah…Come in, the Professor is expecting you." **

**"Colonel, you look shaken. What is this about a professor? Were there two of them?" Holmes says, just hardly concealing the tremor and new-found dread in his voice. He steps in, and I am already standing. The blood is pulsing in his veins. The edges of my mouth go up in a smile.**

**"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, what a…surprise…to see you. I'm glad to finally meet you in person." I hold my hand out for him to shake, and slowly, he takes it, but flinches at the cold. **

This is my moment. I hear shuffling, and a loud "Moran!" coming from inside. Who is this screaming? Damn, I didn't bring my revolver. Compose yourself Holmes, you'll know it all soon enough. I wipe my brow with my red silk handkerchief. It looks like blood...Why does this cause me to gasp? The door opens. The smell, I'm relieved, is pleasant. I must act now. I must not let Moran see my sweat. Hmm...He's sweating too. Why?

"H-Holmes...Yes, yes...ah...come in...The Professor is expecting you." My heart drops. Were my suspicions correct?

"Colonel," Says I, in the calmest voice I can find in me. "you look shaken. What is this about a professor? Were there two of them?" It can't be true. For the sake of London, I pray it is not true. And I am not a praying man. I hope Moran will have said this all in a cruel jest. But I don't need him to. In seconds, I understand what I dreaded to think. Moriarty is not dead. Moriarty was not the man who was hanged at the scaffold. And the show, the game goes on. It must. I am seconds from meeting him. He speaks the first words I hear from him.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, what a...surprise...to see you. I'm glad to finally meet you in person."

The words "surprise" hardly comes to mind. He knew I was coming. He wouldn't be the man I thought he was if he didn't. I may control my face, but my blood rushes to wherever it wants. He is a handsome man. Younger than I imagined. Younger than my nearly 40 years, surely. But his eyes. Perhaps it is my imagination. They look ancient. Older than his body. Like his eyes are the Dorian Grey portrait of his body. He may be young, but those eyes...

He shakes my hand. It feels like ice. Colder perhaps, if possible. Strange. I wince at it. So this is my opponent? He is intimidating.

"As am I, Professor Moriarty. I am relived you are doing well. But I feel I should beg of you not to be a liar. It is below you. Of course my coming was of no surprise." The words that come from my mouth are foreign to me. My mind is focused on those eyes...

**I chuckle, though it is difficult to let go of his hand; its blood continuously pulsing through it, racing to and from its center; the heart. A cough from Moran whisks me away from my reverie. Ah, that man is an idiot, but he does have his moments of usefulness. I address my guest, "Of course it wasn't, but if I recall correctly, **_**you**_** are the one who has knocked on **_**my**_** door, and I beg of you to please elucidate the reasoning of your visit."**

**Fortunately, I am not the only one with a deathly slow reaction time today. Holmes seems to find himself fascinated by my eyes, which haven't blinked yet. Oh, and of course he must be convincing to himself now that it is all in his head. That I'm not nearly as terrifying as his instincts tell him I am. Oh, but Mr. Holmes, if you would only ask, I would tell you just how accurate those instincts are…**

**Finally, Holmes answers me, "Yes, yes. I have come, actually, to, ah, destroy Moran."**

**I raise an eyebrow. "Destroy Moran? Really? Moran, did you hear that? Our Mr. Sherlock Holmes has come all the way from Baker Street, only to destroy you. Isn't that funny?" I laugh, and Moran tentatively joins me. "Well, go on ahead, Mr. Holmes, don't let me stop you. The Colonel's use to me has run its course. I was planning to terminate him soon anyway. Well Moran, old boy, we've had a long run, but I believe that it's time for us to be separated. Good luck to you in whatever comes to us after death."**

My heart is pounding in my head. I have never been this terrified before. Can he see them? Can he see my thoughts? Damn it all Holmes, pull your self together man. You're a fool if you let him get to you. He is not as terrifying as all that surely. He seems amused. I amuse him as he amuses me. I am used to amusing many people, but he seems to have a...inside joke of some kind. There's laughter behind those black eyes. Moran coughs, and I startle.

"Of course it wasn't, but if I recall correctly, _you_ are the one who has knocked on _my_ door, and I beg of you to please elucidate the reasoning of your visit." Moriarty said. Ah! That voice is wonderful yet dreadful. There's so much in this fellow. Even his voice, his melodic, sharp and charming voice holds a secret. I wonder...Do I want to know what it is? Holmes, you're crazy. This is all in your head. He's playing tricks on you. Surely...he must be?

"Yes, yes. I have come, actually, to, ah, destroy Moran." I say at last.

He raises an eyebrow. "Destroy Moran? Really? Moran, did you hear that? Our Mr. Sherlock Holmes has come all the way from Baker Street, only to destroy you. Isn't that funny?" He laughed, and Moran tentatively joined him. Is he serious? "Well, go on ahead, Mr. Holmes, don't let me stop you. The Colonel's use to me has run its course. I was planning to terminate him soon anyway. Well Moran, old boy, we've had a long run, but I believe that it's time for us to be separated. Good luck to you in whatever comes to us after death." Surely he is joking. Isn't Moran his bosom friend? No, no I don't believe he is joking! What a cold-blooded fiend.

"A...kind gesture to put, Moriarty. But I'm no longer interested in Moran. It seems...due to new events...and to put in a crude way, I prefer kings over pawns." I suppose I can be cruel too.

**"Ah, of course you would say that, my fragile enemy. You wouldn't kill Moran; you would let the Law deal with him; you would have him tried in court and then watch him dance at the gallows." I smile grimly, and continue, "A worse fate than to die swiftly at your hands, Mr. Holmes, I daresay. Imagine, the whole city of London, watching your slow, agonizing walk up the creaking, wooden gallows steps, then they gasp as they watch your body fall…Oh, then comes the jerking, and finally, release. A few friends and family members may even be among the number watching your pitiful body swing…" I break off, realizing where I am. "I do apologize, I was thinking aloud. It shan't happen again."**

**Holmes is staring, open-mouthed. "Please close your mouth Mr. Holmes, the fear on your breath only gets worse when you let your bottom jaw hang there like that. If you don't like my…morbidity, then maybe you weren't cut out for your chosen profession." I glance at Moran, who has never been one for holding in emotion, let me tell you, he is visibly trembling, and, though I hate to use this much overused and overrated simile, he is shaking like a leaf.**

**Holmes notices too, and turns to me. He whispers, "I could kill you now."**

**"Oh, if only," I reply with a smile. "I assure you, good sir, that if you could kill me, especially now, I would most definitely let you proceed with the deed."**

Is this man quite serious? Fragile? I've never met a man who would call me fragile. Perhaps my first deduction was right, no matter how arcane it may seem...

I look over my shoulder at Colonel Sebastian Moran. He is not shrieking in fear, nor is he denying all that Moriarty has said. He simply looks at me in the eyes, as if he were saying, "Please, Mr. Holmes...show me some mercy." The gallows would be a terrible thing to see, I myself find them too dis-tasteful to attend. Perhaps Moriarty is joking?...That would be the logical assumption. But like myself, Moriarty doesn't joke. It was like a reflex, as though my mind were made up on the matter before it was aware it existed. I take out my revolver, and shoot. It took less that one second. He looked at me, not fearfully, but with the strangest and most unexpected emotion I could render to see on his face; pity. He knew some horrible truth that I had only yet to discover. As eccentric as it seems, it were as though I were looking at my own face, as if my features were not only reflected in his eyes...but in soul.

That settled the matter, again, with lightning precision; I shoot the pistol at Moriarty. But there is no blood, no mark, no gash. He is entirely un-affected. He simply looks at me with those dark, endless eyes, and I feel a horrifying stab of fear running up my spine, and my thought feels choked. My eyebrows raise, and I talk in a voice darker, and hoarser than I had heard it in a long while.

"Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, _no matter how improbable_, must be the truth."


End file.
